


The Family Business

by stillwaterseas (phoenixflight)



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Child Abuse, Dark, Gaslighting, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Murder, Organized Crime, Revenge, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 06:48:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17976416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixflight/pseuds/stillwaterseas
Summary: The first time Laurent killed someone it was Auguste who cried.





	The Family Business

**Author's Note:**

> This is... quite dark, please mind the tags. I wrote this six months ago and never posted it so here it is.

The first time Laurent killed someone, it was Auguste who cried. It was a simple informant execution, the kind Laurent had been watching since he was old enough to walk. Even at 12 it was an easy shot, a bullet through the head at ten paces. Laurent hadn’t felt anything about it, really, except mild pride, until he got a call from Auguste that night, on the burner phone that he was supposed to keep hidden from everyone, even Uncle.

Auguste’s voice had been hoarse and shaky and Laurent was horrified to realize that his brother was crying. His big brother who was away at college and all grown up, was crying because Laurent had done what he was supposed to?

“What’s wrong?” he’d asked, clutching his phone to his ear.

“It’s gonna be ok,” Auguste had choked.

“Is this because of my job today? Nothing went wrong. Everything’s fine!”

Auguste made a gagging noise like he was about to be sick. “I know. I know. Uncle sent me a video. Hang in there, Laurent, it’ll be ok. I’ll get you out, as soon as I can. I love you. I’m coming back for you. Uncle can’t keep me away.”

Keep him away? Auguste had wanted to leave, that’s what Uncle said. He said Auguste cared more about his own life than his family. Twelve year old Laurent curled up in the crack between his bed and the wall, and hugged a pillow until he stopped shaking.

-

The next day after Laurent’s lessons, Uncle invited him into his private study. Laurent was never allowed in there, and looked around curiously at the cluttered shelves, full of books, broken bits of ancient pottery, animal bones turned to stone. There was a large desk, meticulously neat, and a wide, low couch beside the empty fireplace. His Uncle took an unlabeled wine bottle down from a shelf and held it up. “To celebrate your coming of age.”

Laurent perched on the edge of the couch, trying to look grown up, and took the glass his Uncle poured. It was an excellent Merlot. Uncle had often told him he had good taste in wine for one so young.

“Here’s to your future.” Uncle clinked his glass against Laurent’s and settled beside him on the couch, an arm around his shoulders. Laurent held himself very still. His Uncle’s chest was unpleasantly warm against his side. Laurent was sweating under his collar. “Relax, Laurent.”  He dragged his thumb down Laurent’s cheek, brushing a curl of his hair out of the way. “You did well yesterday, and I know you are going to continue to make me proud.”

-

Laurent didn’t like going to his Uncle’s office, but it was a special privilege, so he didn’t complain. He was always glad when one of the other boys was around, even though they were mostly insufferable brats like Aimeric. They came and went, but he was family.

By the time Laurent was 16, he’d opened his eyes. Uncle, thankfully, had tired of his body, but continued to praise his sharp mind and his clean kills. It made Laurent feel sick when Uncle said that. He looked at Laurent holding a gun the same way he used to look at Laurent naked in his bed.

He hadn’t spoken to Auguste in three years. Inevitably, Uncle had found the burner phone. Laurent, thirteen, had been afraid of being punished, but Uncle just shook his head sadly and pulled him into an embrace. “He’s not coming back, you know,” Uncle had said, rubbing his shoulders. “I know you loved him, but he didn’t love you enough to stay. You can’t trust someone who leaves their family.”

Laurent knew, now, that wasn’t true, but sometimes it  _ felt _ true. He hadn’t cried in years, but sometimes when he thought about his brother, he wanted to. Other days, usually coming back from a job, body singing with adrenaline, pride, and self-loathing, he hated Auguste.

On the worst days, Laurent went for long rides on his Harley, and on every sharp turn thought about how easy it would be to crash.

After Auguste had gotten out, Uncle had changed his techniques. By the time Laurent was ready to run, Uncle was better prepared. Laurent’s name was on all the documents; he was implicated in felonies in fourteen nations. His Uncle had enough evidence to put him in jail for ten lifetimes. It was watertight. Laurent should know, he’d helped craft the same kinds of documents for others in the organization. And he was good at his job. Without the family business he was nothing – assassination, extortion, and forgery weren’t exactly marketable skills. There was no way to leave and nothing waiting for him outside except the memory of Auguste. So he stayed.

Laurent was almost eighteen when he woke with a start in the middle of the night. Someone was in his room. The gun on his bedside table was gone, but the knife hidden down the side of the mattress was still there. Laurent went from perfect stillness to attack in a split second as the man leaned over him.

Lunging upright, he slashed for the man’s neck before he had registered anything else. He was almost as good with a knife as he was with a gun, but the man blocked his blow, bearing down on top of him and twisting his arm until he had to roll sideways or have his wrist broken.

Laurent kicked out at the man’s groin and knees, felt his heel connect with something. The man grunted and then hissed, “Laurent!  _ Laurent. _ ”

Struggling against his hold, face pressed into the sheets and mind blank with adrenaline, it took Laurent a long moment to place the voice. He hadn’t heard it in years. He froze. “Auguste?”

“Laurent,” Auguste breathed, and then he was letting Laurent up, wrapping his arms around him, and Laurent found himself pressed against his older brother’s chest for the first time in seven years. He blinked in the dark. When he breathed in, his lungs filled with the familiar smell of his brother, and everything came crashing down – loss, longing, a deep feeling of safety. He made a small choked noise that he was ready to deny for the rest of his life, and pressed his face into Auguste’s shirt, trembling.

“What are you doing here?” he mumbled finally, when he had pulled himself together enough that he could speak without actually sobbing.

“I’ve come to get you out.”

Laurent shivered, longing and fear rushing through him. “I can’t go,” he whispered. “Uncle has all the details of my work, and backups with Guion. Even if something happened to Uncle...”

“Guion is taken care of.”

“What? Taken care of?” He pulled back to squint at his brother. “I thought you didn’t do that anymore.”

Auguste’s eyes were inscrutable in the dark. “Getting you out is the most important thing. With Guion and Uncle dead and their files wiped, the only things left against you are circumstantial.”

“Is Uncle...”

“Not yet. I wanted to get you out first.”

“Are you sure?” Laurent’s hands clenched convulsively in Auguste’s shirt. “I would go to jail for the rest of my life. I would go to the chair.”

“I’m sure. I know a good lawyer if we need her, but most of it will never come to light.”

“How do you know?” Laurent said faintly.

“I’ve been keeping track of hits. Hacking databases, FBI, MI-6, Interpol, finding out how much they know. But also...” Auguste hesitated. “Uncle sends me... updates. On you. To punish me for leaving, I think.” He stroked a hand over Laurent’s brow, pushing back his bangs. And then he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Laurent’s, his breath gusting damp and faintly sweet against his brother’s mouth. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m so fucking sorry. I know it took too long, I wasn’t quick enough. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you, Laurent.”

Throat tight, Laurent nodded.

Auguste squeezed him tight. “If you’re ready, Jord is waiting in the car.”

“What about Uncle?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll do it.”

Laurent pulled back out of his brother’s grasp, straightening his shoulders. “No. I will.”

“Laurent...”

“No, Auguste.” His heart was pounding in his throat. “I will.”

His brother gazed at him for a long moment, face hidden in blue shadows, his fair hair pale in the dark. Then Auguste nodded. “When?”

“In the morning. I’m not going to kill him in bed beside one of his boys.”

“I’ll be back for you at ten o'clock,” Auguste promised, and Laurent felt a sharp pain like a fish hook under his ribs, a skittering fear that Auguste would leave and never come back.  _ Promises are made to be broken _ , he thought, and it was in his Uncle’s voice. But Auguste had never broken a promise. He’s said he would come back for Laurent, and he had.

~

There was a slender, blue-eyed boy in the kitchen the next morning when Laurent entered with a gun behind his back. He was sitting at the breakfast nook, kicking his heels against the legs of his chair and eating sugary cereal out of the box. Laurent vaguely recognized him as one of the current favorites. The shower was running in the master bath. It was a sunny day. The boy was maybe ten years old.

“What’s your name?” Laurent asked. He usually avoided his Uncle’s boys and made a point of never learning their names.

“Nicaise,” the boy said, lifting his chin. “Why, do you want a turn too?”

Laurent had seen men with their heads split open that made him less queasy than that sentence. He shifted his grip on the butt of the pistol. “I can put on cartoons for you in the living room.”

“I’m not a  _ baby _ ,” the boy said scathingly.

“Ok,” Laurent said and pulled the Glock out from behind his back. The boy’s eyes widened. “Let’s try this. Get out of the kitchen. Cartoons are optional.”

The boy, Nicaise, looked frightened, but set his jaw. “Are you about to kill someone?”

“Yes. Living room. Now.” He gestured with the silenced muzzle of the gun. “You can take the Cocoa Puffs if you want.” After a long moment, the boy grabbed the box of cereal and slipped out of the room.

The shower shut off with a creak of pipes, and Laurent sat down where Nicaise had been at the breakfast nook, facing the door. The Glock was in his lap, under the table.

His Uncle came in wrapped in a dressing gown, cheeks pink from the hot water. “Ah Laurent, you’re up early. Where is Nicaise?”

“I told him he could watch cartoons.”

Uncle frowned. “With the cereal?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Really, Laurent, you know the rules about food in the living room.”

Laurent took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Thank you for that.” He lifted the gun and pointed it at his Uncle’s head.

“Ah. Ahah.” Uncle laughed softly, and shook his head. “I wondered if you would ever try this.”

“You don’t sound very worried for a man who knows exactly how good a shot I am,” Laurent said levelly. 

“My sweet boy,” Uncle said, still smiling. “Always too precocious for your own good. You won’t kill me. You would go to jail for life. And you know what sorts of things can happen to a pretty thing like you.” 

“Intimately,” Laurent gritted out. “Thanks to you.” 

Uncle made a dismissive noise. “Even if you could escape, what kind of a life could you have? Do you think you’re fit for society? Best to stay where you belong.” Morning sunlight streamed through the windows, gleaming on the granite countertops and clean tiled floor. It was the only home Laurent had ever had. “There’s no place out there for a cold-blooded killer and overgrown bed boy.” 

“You’ll never know,” Laurent said, and pulled the trigger. 

A round, red hole opened in his Uncle’s forehead and his whole body jerked. The Glock was a .22 - Laurent wanted his Uncle dead, not with his brain splattered all over the kitchen. His mouth opened, eyes going wide, and he swayed on his feet and then collapsed. As Laurent turned away, not wanting to watch the convulsions of death, he saw Nicaise lurking in the doorway to the living room. 

“I thought I told you to stay in the living room,” Laurent said shortly. He could hear fabric rustling and faint bodily grunting as his Uncle twitched.  

“He’s still alive,” Nicaise said, white faced. 

“No, he’s not. That’s just what people look like when they die.” 

“You killed him.” 

“I did.” Laurent had imagined he might feel different, lighter, safer maybe. Mostly he just felt tired, but it was a warm tiredness, almost comfortable. 

“He called you his bed boy.” The boy’s tone was accusatory. Laurent just shrugged and put the safety on the Glock. Uncle had stopped moving. A pool of blood was spreading from beneath his skull, vivid crimson on the white tiles. “I thought it was just me,” Nicaise said finally. 

Laurent felt a hitch in his chest. “He’s much older than you, Nicaise. He’s been doing this to boys since before you were born.” 

Nicasie’s blue gaze flickered up to his. “Is that why you killed him? Were you jealous?” 

Laurent had to close his eyes briefly, nausea tightening his throat. “No.”

There was a knock at the front door, and both of them whipped around. Adrenaline spiked through Laurent, making his heart pound painfully, even though he had been expecting it. “Who’s that?” Nicaise asked, eyes wide. 

“It’s my brother.” 

When he opened the door, Laurent’s breath caught at seeing his brother in daylight for the first time in years. Sun turned his hair from honey yellow to burnished gold. Laurent had forgotten that. “Is it done?” he asked, and Laurent nodded. 

Auguste reached and and Laurent folded himself into his brother’s arms, breathing in the familiar smell of him. A knot of something sharp began to unravel in his chest. He breathed out. 

There was a shuffle in the hall behind them, and Auguste said, “Who’s this?” 

“Nicaise,” Nicaise said, as Laurent straightened and wiped his eyes surreptitiously. 

“Are you coming with us?” Auguste asked. 

“I don’t know anything about you.” 

Laurent looked pointedly in the direction of the kitchen. “You know more about me than you would know about any other foster family.”

Nicaise regarded him for a long moment, looking tiny and suspicious, narrow shoulders hunched up around his ears. Then he said, “I guess I won’t have to wonder if you’re a murderer.” 

Startled, Laurent laughed. “Go get anything you want to pack. Or steal,” he added after a moment’s thought. “We’ll be here.” 

The boy turned and scurried up the stairs. 

“You’re going to be an excellent foster father,” Auguste said, sounding amused. Their uncle’s corpse was cooling on the kitchen.  

“Foster brother, more like,” Laurent said, rolling his eyes. “You’re the poor sucker who’s taking both of us in.” 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Auguste put an arm around him again and Laurent let himself lean against his brother’s solid warmth. The adrenaline was draining from his body, making him feel shaky and a little light headed. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, hating how small his voice sounded. 

“Sure what?” 

Laurent swallowed. “Sure you want me.” 

“Laurent,” Auguste breathed. “Laurent, yes, I’m sure. I’ve never wanted anything more than to have you safe with me.” Auguste was trying to look at him, but Laurent pressed his face against his brother’s shoulder. “I will never leave you again. I promise.” 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Laurent tightened his arms around his brother and nodded. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love!   
> Follow me on tumblr at [ stillwaterseas](http://stillwaterseas.tumblr.com/) or at my fandom blog [seas-of-ios](https://seas-of-ios.tumblr.com/)


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